“Come over, avourneen,” said his mother, drying her eyes with the corner of her check apron:  “come over, acushla machree, an’ sit beside me:  sure although we’re sorry for you, Denis, it’s proud our hearts are of you, an’ good right we have, a sullish!  Come over, an let me be near you as long as I can, any way.”

Denis placed himself beside her, and the proud mother drew his head over upon her bosom, and bedewed his face with a gush of tears.

“They say,” she observed, “that it’s sinful to shed tears when there’s no occasion for grief; but I hope it’s no sin to cry when one’s heart is full of somethin’ that brings them to one’s eyes, whether they will or not.”

“Mave,” said the father, “I’ll miss him more nor any of you:  but sure he’ll often send letters to us from Maynewth, to tell us now he’s gettin’ on; an’ we’ll be proud enough, never fear.”

“You’ll miss me, Denis,” said his favorite sister, who was also called Susan; “for you’ll find no one in Maynewth that will keep your linen so white as I did:  but never fear, I’ll be always knittin’ you stockings; an’ every year I’ll make you half-a-dozen shirts, and you’ll think them more natural nor other shirts, when you know they came from your own home—­from them that you love!  Won’t you, Denis?”

“I will, Susy; and I will love the shirts for the sake of the hands that made them.”

“And I won’t allow Susy Connor to help me as she used to do:  they’ll be all Alley’s sewin’ and mine.”

“The poor colleen—­listen to her!” exclaimed the affectionate father; “indeed you will, Susy; ay, and hem his cravats, that we’ll send him ready made an’ all.”

“Yes,” replied Denis, “but as to Susy Connor—­hem—­why, upon considera—­he—­hem—­upon second thoughts, I don’t see why you should prevent her from helping you; she’s a neighbor’s daughter, and a well-wisher, of whose prosperity in life I’d always wish to hear.

“The poor girl’s very bad in her health, for the last three weeks,” observed his other sister Alley:  “she has lost her appetite, an’ is cast down entirely in her spirits.  You ought to go an’ see her, Denis, before you set out for the college, if it was only on her dacent father’s account.  When I was tellin’ her yisterday that you wor to get the bishop’s letter for Maynewth to-morrow, she was in so poor a state of health that she nearly fainted.  I had to give her a drink of wather, and sprinkle her face with it.  Well, she’s a purty crathur, an’ a good girl, an’ was always that, dear knows!”

“Denis achree,” said his mother, somewhat alarmed, “are you any way unwell?  Why your heart’s batin’ like a new catched chicken!  Are you sick, acushla; or are you used to this?”

“It won’t signify,” replied Denis, gently raising himself from his mother’s arms, “I will sit up, mother; it’s but a sudden stroke or two of tremor cordis, produced probably by having my mind too much upon one object.”